


Rawhide: New Vegas

by Tintenfischie



Category: Fallout: New Vegas, Rawhide (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fallout, Animal Attack, Animal Death, Cowboys, Injury, M/M, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 12:46:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14308917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tintenfischie/pseuds/Tintenfischie
Summary: Pushing cattle was never easy, no matter where you are in history. This particular drive takes place in the 23rd century, in the barren world of the Mojave Wastelands. The landscape may be different than it was hundred of years ago, but in most ways, the life of a drover remains the same. Incidents...Incidents never change.





	Rawhide: New Vegas

**Author's Note:**

> So...this idea initially popped into my mind as a joke because Fallout: New Vegas has an item called 'Rawhide hat' and it just kind of took off from there. I've tried to balance Fallout lore with story so that it's not completely unreadable. In order to avoid clunky exposition, the end notes will explain some of the creatures and concepts for those not familiar with them. Some things just remain a mystery, though. Like how they call cows 'brahmin' even though they still use the term 'cowboy.' Hopefully, folks will enjoy this weird, weird crossover!

The Mojave Wasteland is one of the most hostile places imaginable. In the wilderness of the desert, basic needs are never promised; water might be irradiated and places that look like decent grazing ground might be raider ambushes.

Outside of the region's cities and walls, no one is truly safe from lurking dangers. This is especially true for the travellers, be they lone prospectors or caravans. In my case, it's three hundred head of brahmin; six hundred if you count both heads. I'm Gil Favor, trail boss. I'm in charge of getting this outfit from California to Freeside with the beeves, and the men, intact.

* * *

Their journey saw a landscape growing more and more arid the closer they got to their destination. Hills with patchy grass and scraggly trees were behind them, miles upon miles of rocky desert ahead. The wide, rural nothingness that stretched between cities was the part of the Wasteland that one truly needed to worry about. That was the part that made the drive so dangerous.

According to the old map Favor had, they were almost exactly halfway to their destination. The California side of the journey had been relatively good. 'Relatively' being a key word; they'd had to deal with the usual mess of thieves, disease, and wildlife threatening the brahmin, but that was all within New California Republic territory.

The NCR, as it was known, was still a comparatively young government, founded less than a hundred years ago, still fighting and expanding. Heavily militarized but somehow still makeshift, it was the best shot at true civilization the West had seen since the bombs fell. Favor himself had been an NCR officer, not too long ago. Recently enough to understand how limited their force was in these parts.

The NCR's power and protection waned the further they travelled. It wasn't the first time he and his outfit had made this journey, but each time there was some new threat seemed to spring up. Mutated creatures sought new territory, bands of raiders moved from one place to another. Brand new forces seemed to materialize for the sole purpose of making their job hell.

On a rocky outcrop, Favor sat atop his mount, a pre-war cyberhorse named Butch, while he looked out over the herd and the drovers pushing it along. Past them, two figures on radhorses could be seen in the distance.

Pete and Rowdy rode out ahead of the herd, assessing whether the land would be worth grazing for a few days, or if it was only fit for their overnight camp. So far, it was nothing more than endless sandy dunes between sheer sandstone formations, with patches of plants eking their way into life.

Pete looked at the Pip-Boy he wore on his wrist, adjusting the computer's screen in the harsh sunlight. Once Pete could see the map, he scanned around for notes on anything nearby. Resources or danger, they needed to know about everything.

“Anything good on that thing? Maybe a stream or a lake?” Rowdy said. “At this point I'd settle for a muddy, little pond, so long as it wasn't too irradiated.”

“That'd be enough for Mr. Favor. Lucky for us, we don't gotta to resort to that. There's a cave with a stream right below those cliffs.” Pete pointed to the steep rocky walls in the near distance. “Looks like there might be some halfway decent grazing scrub, too. Come on.” He pulled at the reigns on his horse's heads and steered toward the cliffs with the promised caves and Rowdy followed.

Rowdy was much more confident in the Pip-Boy's map than the out-dated one Favor had, probably torn from some old, pre-war travel book. Still, it didn't mean they had to drop their guard and jump for joy as soon as it presented them with good news. Most advanced personal computer system or not, neither could say there was a stream until they actually saw the stream. But something else suddenly caught Rowdy's eye.

“Pete, would you look at that?” They stopped and Rowdy pointed out a lone, intact mailbox standing in the middle of a patch of dead plants. “Your map say anything about a town nearby?”

Pete shook his head. “Nothin’. Not even another trading post this side of the cliffs. That's probably pre-war. Whatever house might've been there, it's long gone now.”

“That makes one sturdy mailbox.” Rowdy moved to approach it but Pete stopped him.

“Hold on! What if it's a raider booby trap?”

“In a mailbox, all the way out here? What would they do that for?”

Pete raised his eyebrows. “Got our attention, didn't it?” Rowdy knew he had a point. It was foolish to put anything, however random it may seem, past raiders. He drew his pistol and aimed for the box, firing off two quick shots. Pete looked over at him. “What the hell, Rowdy?”

“I was just checking for explosives! We're outside the blast zone.”

“At least give me a warning next time.” Nearing the mailbox, the two dismounted and slowly approached, keeping an eye out for traps hidden in the brambles. When there were none to be found, Rowdy reached and carefully opened the box with a long-rusted creak.

“Huh.”

“Well, what is it?” Pete leaned in. Rowdy pulled out an empty whiskey bottle and a handful of sand. “After all that fuss. Rowdy, you'd make a lousy scavenger, you know that?”

“Don't let Wishbone hear you throwing around the term 'scavenger.'” They whirled around at the sound of Favor's voice behind them. “Either of you found anything useful or just old whiskey bottles?”

“Uhh...” Rowdy looked at the bottle in his hand, putting it back in the mailbox. “According to Pete's map, there's a stream in a cave over there. We were just about to check if it's safe.”

Favor nodded. “All right then, you two go and take a look at that cave. When you're done, Pete, you go out and scout out that northern pass, explore what you can. If it looks safe, we're taking that route, otherwise we wind up in Fiend territory. Rowdy, you come back to the herd when you're done. Oh, and try not to get distracted along the way. Don't need any more innocent mailboxes shot down for no good reason.”

–--

Upon entering the cave with weapons at the ready, Pete turned on the light of his Pip-Boy. It was a trade-off, being able to see clearly in the cave, but at the cost of being more easily spotted. That didn't appear to be a problem, so far. Skeletal animal remains were scattered here and there, but all were old. The cave didn't go very far back and it took them little time to reach the stream, quietly echoing against the rock walls.

“Hm, not very wide, won't fit a whole lotta beeves. We'll have to herd a few in here at a time. Unless we want 'em stampeding all over each other.” Pete sighed. He knew Favor wouldn't like the delay, but this was the only option they had. “Least it's clean. No one's gonna start glowin' from drinking here.”

“Great!” Rowdy said. “I'll ride back and tell him.”

“'Course you get to tell him 'bout this.” Pete shook his head. “Tell him it's gotta be ten, maybe fifteen beeves at a time, an' how it's gonna slow us down by a whole day. Ain't gonna let you give him nothing but good news.”

Mixed news or not, Rowdy's smile didn't fade a bit as they rode back out, parting ways; Pete travelling toward the pass and Rowdy returning to the herd. By the time Rowdy arrived, they'd already set up camp for the day. Better yet, just in time for chuck. Even if it was mole rat stew yet again, dinner was always welcome. The Boss was much easier to talk to with a full stomach.

First things first, Rowdy swooped over to the chuck wagon and grabbed a plate of his own before sitting beside Favor. His boss acknowledged him with a nod and the two sat and ate their dinner, enjoying a brief moment of peace before getting to business.

“So, that cave’s got a stream.” Rowdy said through a mouthful of food. “Good grazing out front, too.”

“Sounds good.”

“Yeah it, uh, pretty much is.” Rowdy downed a few more spoonfuls of stew. “Only one thing, though.” Favor turned to him, expression unchanged as he chewed his food. “It’s uh, pretty small and won’t fit more than fifteen or so beeves at a time. Pete figures it’ll slow us down by a full day.”

“All right. We’ll use that day to graze the beeves.”

Rowdy waited a few seconds, not quite sure if he should expect more out of that response or not. He decided to accept it as it was, enjoying their good fortune as well as Favor’s good attitude. That in particular, he savoured more than the best foods caps could buy.

–--

As the sun lowered behind the horizon and the fire died down, they began to set out their bedrolls. Favor was unrolling his own, just on the far edge of camp, when he glanced up to see Rowdy setting up next to him, grinning slightly. He allowed himself a little smile as well. Sometimes this just meant the two of them sleeping next to one another, close by for company and warmth, but other times it was a way of letting the other know they were interested in more than just sleeping.

It was one of the many things folks did on the drive that went unspoken, something that just worked out. Sometimes Favor and Pete went together, sometimes Rowdy and Mushy paired up. Jim and Joe were some of the few who always remained together. Tonight, Rowdy seemed eager to be with Favor, and Favor was far from opposed to taking his mind off the trouble ahead of them on the trail. Pleasure was not plentiful in the Wasteland, and taking it in the arms of someone close was the best place to find it.

Bed rolls set, he and Rowdy began unbuckling gun belts and armour, Rowdy moving with a notable fervency. Down to the bare minimum clothing needed to stay warm in the cold night air of the Mojave, Rowdy barely tried to keep quiet as they cuddled up together. He pressed himself against Favor and began kissing him, unbuttoning Favor's shirt, reaching beneath to run his hands from the softness of his waist to his hips, letting his hands settle there.

“Somethin's got you fired up tonight.” Favor whispered low between kisses.

Even in the dim light, he swore he could see a blush on Rowdy's face. “I'm just...I dunno, I'm just really in the mood.” There was that lopsided smile again. “Ain't you?”

Favor answered by undoing the buttons of Rowdy's pants before undoing his own. It wouldn't be a long night. It rarely was out on the trail, especially not in camp. But quick and sweet was what they both needed right now.

Rowdy let out a moan as Favor kissed along his neck, dragging his teeth lightly over his adam's apple, while he reached down between his legs. Rowdy groaned, this time much louder. A nearby drover shifted in his sleep and Favor shushed Rowdy.

“You tryin' to wake the whole drive?” He didn't let Rowdy answer, instead keeping him quiet with a deep kiss. He broke away to spit in his hand, reaching beneath their blankets and taking them both in his hand. His movements started out slow, infuriatingly slow to Rowdy, who responded with a whine.

Gil smiled and decided to show some mercy, speeding up his movements, Rowdy tightening his hold on his hips. He was gripping so tightly, Favor thought he might leave bruises. He buried his face against Favor’s shoulder, making an attempt at stifling his moans as he came. Breathing heavy, Rowdy let go of Gil’s hips and placed a hand over his as Gil finished soon after. For a minute or two, they lay beside one another, catching their breath.

Rowdy was the one to break the silence. “You got your bandanna?”

“Can’t use yours?” Seeing the look on Rowdy’s face, Gil chuckled and grabbed his own bandanna to clean up. It wasn’t long before Rowdy fell asleep, unusually fast, but Gil was grateful for the peace and quiet that brought. He got the feeling he wouldn't be getting to sleep so easily.

Reaching over to his saddle bag, he fished around until he found the map. The weak fire was dying down, and did little in the ways of providing actual warmth or illumination. But the region was far too dangerous to have a full one burning, acting like a beacon for everyone and everything within sight.

He looked over the map, not so much taking in its features, barely visible in low light, but rather deep into his own worries. These kinds of rocky passes were breeding grounds for deathclaws. It would only take a few to wipe out the drovers and the herd.

The only alternate route was crawling with Fiends, though at this point Favor wasn't sure which threat he'd rather take his chances with. He looked at Rowdy, sleeping beside him, pressed against his body, and he decided to stay the course and brave the pass, deathclaws and all.

–--

 _That's the news. This is Mr. New Vegas, wishing everyone a good Mojave morning. And now, I'd like to play one of my very favourite songs for all of you_.

Favor awoke to the sound of Radio New Vegas blaring out, far too loudly, far too early, even by trail drive standards. There were better ways to wake up, but at least this told him that Pete was back. Untangling himself from Rowdy's arms, Favor got up and wandered over to where Pete stood. He was holding his arm out while Mushy fiddled with the Pip-Boy.

Seeing Favor, Pete looked from him to the Pip-Boy's glowing, green screen and back, smiling sheepishly. “Havin' some technical difficulties here, Boss.”

“Mr. Nolan got it stuck on the radio setting.” Mushy explained. “Used to happen to me when I first got my Pip-Boy!”

“How old are you when they give you those Pip-Boys?” Favor asked, the slightest smile appearing on his face.

“I got mine on my tenth birthday.”

Before Favor could say another word Pete spoke up. “He grew up with 'em, had years to get used to these things. When I was ten, we had _one_ working computer terminal in the whole town.” Pete only realized how loudly he was talking once Mushy shut off the radio.

“Fixed it!”

“Thanks, Mushy.” Pete said, much quieter now. Not that it mattered at this point, since the entire camp had been woken up. “Least it went haywire on me after I was out of that pass.” Favor pulled him aside.

“How's that pass looking? Anything dangerous enough to keep us from going through?”

Pete hesitated a few seconds before answering. “That's the thing, Boss. No recent signs of deathclaw at all. I scoured every cave; all them nests are long empty. Have been for no less than four, five months, I figure.” Under most circumstances, this would be good news, but such a sudden departure of a wasteland creature with virtually no threats outside of the most well-armed NCR units was suspicious.

“Did you find any remains?” Favor considered the possibility that some one, maybe the NCR, maybe some extremely determined wastelanders, had managed to clear the place. It was uncommon, but it could happen. His hopes were dashed as Pete shook his head slowly.

“Not a one. Now tell me, what could possibly drive out deathclaws?” The question was rhetorical. No one knew more about wildlife than Pete, and if he couldn't come up with some reasonable explanation for this, then no one could.

“Depleted their resources. Ran out of prey, maybe? Moved on to better hunting ground?” Favor tried to keep his voice low and steady despite how much his worry was rapidly building.

“That's what I was thinkin’. What I'm _hoping_. Saw enough signs of mole rats and geckos 'round the area as it was, but those coulda moved in after deathclaw cleared out. No way of really knowing for sure, though.”

“Let's hope that's what happened.” Favor said, as much to himself as to Pete. The thought that maybe they could be wrong about this gnawed at his mind. Deathclaws killed so quickly, if there was even one left in the pass, it would be hell to take out. “Pete, how long would it take two or three of us to go all the way through this pass?”

Again, Pete looked to the map on the Pip-Boy, adjusting dials and zooming in. “Just three of us, no horses, no beeves? We could make it back by sundown.”

“Gonna be delayed for grazing anyway. You, me, and Rowdy can go through. On foot, I don’t wanna risk the horses in there.”

“Sure you wanna do this, Boss?”

“As far as I can see, it's the best option we got.”

\---

As Favor had decided, the three of them rode out to the pass, leaving the horses by the entrance. Their mounts would have made the journey faster, but would be far safer for the animals to stay behind. The pass was neither the widest nor the narrowest of places, easy enough to push the beeves through without much hassle but not so wide that they’d be in danger of scattering. The sheer, rust-coloured rocks on either side offered shade for much of the day, another plus to this particular route. The drawback lay with how the pass twisted and curved like a river, cutting off sight of what might be ahead every other turn.

Pete led the way, tracing back over where he’d already been. Every now and then, a crow call would echo out above them. There were some telltale signs of other creatures, mole rat burrows, empty gecko nests, but nothing to signify danger. Once the path ahead began to steep upward, Pete hurried on ahead; the others would catch up soon. Rowdy took this opportunity to talk with Favor alone.

“Boss, I've been thinking, this pass, all empty and closed in like this. What if it’s some kinda trap?” He looked over to Favor, who kept his eyes on the terrain in front of them.

“If it's a trap, who set it, and who would they wanna catch?”

“I was afraid it might be something...” He grimaced slightly and scratched the side of his face before continuing. “...something the Legion might do.” Favor had been worried that was where Rowdy's mind was going. Truth was, Favor wasn't above suspecting bizarre occurrences as the work of Caesar’s Legion. Most former NCR did, even for the most irrational of things. Rationality never stopped that fear from existing, especially up against the NCR’s most powerful enemy.

“Suppose it's a possibility, but it's more likely whatever animals were here before ran out of food and moved on, just like Pete said.” He finally looked over to Rowdy, and saw his brows knit and his eyes downcast. “Look, we all know Caesar's crazier than a mad brahmin, but even his troops would have a hell of a time pullin' this one off. They would have to either herd the deathclaw out of the pass, without leavin’ a trace, or kill them all and hide the carcasses. And for what, to catch whatever caravaners or drovers happen to come through? No, I don't think they're what we gotta worry about. _For once_.”

A second glance at Rowdy breathing a silent sigh of relief told him all he needed to know. He could relax about the matter for now, but Favor knew more worries would spring up in the future. That was exactly how the Legion worked, spreading fear, making paranoids of otherwise reasonable folks. As reasonable as Rowdy _could_ be, at least. He smiled to himself.

Favor came to a sudden halt upon sight of Pete, standing on a rocky outcrop with a hand raised in the NCR 'stop' signal. He could tell from how Pete stood that he was tense. His hand signal changed to the flat palm for 'get down'. Favor and Rowdy crouched to the ground behind a large boulder nearby, with Pete stealthily moving to join them.

“We don't got deathclaws, but there's another problem.” Pete said in a whisper. “Night stalkers. A whole pack of 'em.”

Favor could feel his heart beating rapidly. Night stalkers, a genetic mix of coyote and rattlesnake, mostly resided in caves and preferred to keep their hunting hours close to dawn and dusk. But here they were, in broad daylight, out in the open.

Then it hit him. Of course, with deathclaws gone, with nothing left but geckos and mole rats, _of course_ some predator would come in and take advantage of the newly open hunting grounds. It was an obvious mistake, one that neither should have overlooked. He could tell from the look on Pete's face, he must be having the same thoughts.

The sounds of the creatures grew closer. Hissing, low growls and snarls, it would be impossible to stay hidden for much longer. The real danger of night stalkers was their keen senses and even quicker reflexes. The warning rattle of their tails came far too late and there were too many. One on its own would be challenge enough, but an entire pack against the three of them…

“What do we do now?” Rowdy said, his voice shaky.

“How many are there, exactly?” Favor asked Pete, who looked down to the Pip-Boy.

“Looks like five–no, six of ‘em. We might be able to make a break for it.”

The choice had to be made quickly. Whether they fled or fought, it would be a risk, but they would have to pick one. With the sound of his pounding heart echoing in his ears, Favor made his decision.

“We’ll make a break for it. Now.” They moved out immediately, staying low to the ground as they ran, weapons at the ready. At first, it seemed as though they might have escaped notice, but a call, some unnatural cross between a howl and a hiss, signalled that they were far from free.

Lightening quick, the night stalkers ran after their targets. Pete saw one catching up, nearly beside them. A blast from his rifle took it out, but a second night stalker appeared, just as fast. This one wasn’t as easy a target, the bullet only hitting it in the side. Wounded but not down, it took a second shot from Favor to dispatch it.

A couple of the night stalkers seemed to slow down upon seeing their dead, but not all were so deterred. Rowdy could hear one catching up to him, knowing he would have no chance of outrunning it. He skidded to a sudden halt, quickly pivoting around and aiming his rifle as it ran towards him. A well-placed head-shot felled the creature instantly. He turned back to continue onward but from the corner of his eye, he saw movement on a rock ledge.

The night stalker jumped at him, faster than he could react. Rowdy swung the butt of his rifle around, glancing the side of the creature’s head. He’d reacted too late and without enough force. Falling onto him, the night stalker still managed to sink one of its long fangs into Rowdy’s shoulder.

A shout rang out as Rowdy shoved the night stalker away, the fang still dripping venom as it slid from the wound it had created. He wasted no time firing, point blank, shattering the beast’s skull. He reached to his shoulder; the damn thing got him just past where his armour ended and had ripped through his sleeve. Already, his vision grew unfocused, his steps growing unsteady. He saw the blurred figures of his friends rushing toward him.

“Mr. Favor.” He said, weakly. “I’m sorry, I...” Rowdy didn’t finish. He felt as though he didn’t have enough energy left for speaking and his legs were ready to give out at any moment.

Taking a hold of Rowdy, Favor tore aside the ripped sleeve and injected a stimpak, emptying the fluid into his arm. Once empty, he stabbed the syringe into the corpse of the night stalker, filling the tube up with the creature's blood before breaking off the needle tip on a rock. They would need it if they had any hope of concocting antivenom.

“Hold this, I'll get him up.” Favor gave Pete the syringe, which he slipped into his ammo belt. Rowdy was rapidly growing weaker and was unable to stand on his own, or even assist when Favor tried to help. It was apparent it would take both Favor and Pete to get him moving.

Legs shaky beneath him Rowdy stumbled along, barely propped up by Favor and Pete as they made their way back. At one point, Rowdy gathered his strength just enough to hastily shove them away. He dropped to the ground, vomiting before nearly passing out. Pete and Favor rushed to his side, dragging him upright once again.

Pete took his canteen and helped Rowdy drink a mouthful of water. He choked it down, feeling ill even at the taste of clean water. “Come on, we're almost to the camp. Don't get dehydrated now, you've just gotta make it that far.” Pete spoke softly.

Favor appreciated the calm tone in Pete's words. His own mind was racing, trying to think of people who had survived night stalker venom. He knew someone back in the NCR who had, but that was with the aid of proper medical care. He glanced at the syringe in Pete's holster and prayed that Wishbone had the rest of the components, and the know-how.

They pace at which they were forced to walk was killing Favor. He cursed himself for having thought it would be better on foot than on their horses. Yet another mistake. From here on, he swore he would be twice as careful. Stop making the kind of poor choices someone with his experience should know better than to make. If this cost Rowdy his life, there would be no forgiving himself.

Finally, they were out of the rocky walls, where they'd left their horses grazing. They pushed Rowdy onto Butch, Favor quickly mounting behind. Pete passed the night stalker blood off to Favor, who sped off toward camp. “Almost there.” Favor said, as much to himself as to Rowdy.

Outside of Camp, it was Jim on guard. He saw the two of them approaching, Rowdy obviously injured as he sat slumped forward on the horse's metal neck. He rode to meet them and came to a halt when he saw just how bad Rowdy's condition was.

“What happened?”

“Night stalkers.” Jim’s eyes went wide at the news, and he looked as if he were going to ride after them to the camp. “Stay on watch!” Favor understood the worry, far too deeply he understood, but he needed some semblance of professionalism to continue on the drive. He knew damn well he cast some of his own aside the second Rowdy was injured so terribly.

Favor rode directly to the supply wagon, dismounting while still trying to keep a hold of Rowdy. He was beginning to feel an exhaustion creeping into his muscles as he lowered him from the horse. He shouted for Wishbone, who wasted no time in running to the scene.

“What's wrong with Rowdy?” Wish answered his own question when he saw the way Rowdy's eyes rolled back, the cold sweat, and the clear fang wound on his shoulder. “Night stalker bite. Tell me you got some of its blood!”

Favor drew the syringe faster than he'd drawn any weapon in his life. He knew it would only be worth a damn if they had rad scorpion tails. He placed Rowdy in the back of the supply wagon, feeling as though he'd just used up the very last of his strength to do so.

Meanwhile, Wish opened a drawer and withdrew an old, stained cloth. Favor let out a shaky sigh of relief when he unwrapped it and produced the scorpion tail glands. Wish immediately went to work mixing the venom residue with the night stalker blood, doing whatever makeshift chemistry went into the process. There was no guarantee it would be enough, but at least now Rowdy had a fighting chance.

He watched as Wishbone took the mixture and carefully poured it through the cloth, leaving the fine liquid separated. It didn't look like much; it was barely enough to fill up a fresh syringe. Hands remaining steady, Wishbone took the antivenom and injected it near the wound. Favor held Rowdy to keep him still, though he only twitched slightly at the needle. Wherever his mind was, Favor hoped he wasn't feeling the pain.

Once it was over, all they could do was wait. Do their best to make sure he drank water, stayed warm, and monitor his condition. No one asked questions despite the many worries they all carried in their minds.

There had been deaths on the trail drives in the past. It was a cruel inevitability, and it always hurt, some more than others. This was so wildly different for Favor, and it showed. It had to show, no matter how stoic he tried to appear. The entire drive, even the newest drovers, knew how dear Rowdy was to the boss.

Hours passed. Dinner was eaten, dishes cleaned, bedrolls laid out. Now and then, there were a few attempts at the usual conversation. Jim and Joe attempted to start a card game, but that was quickly abandoned. A dark anticipation hung in the air. Favor had the worst of it, completely unable to stay asleep, however much he knew he needed rest, himself.

It was deep into the night when Wishbone approached Favor. He looked tired as well, but he was smiling. Instantly, Favor felt hope rise in his heart. He got to his feet quickly, Wishbone answering before he even asked the question.

“Rowdy’s awake, and looks like he’s gonna be just fine!” Suddenly, Wishbone seemed like a better doctor than every NCR medic put together. “It’ll be a few days yet ‘fore he’s back to his usual, but he’s just fine.”

Favor ran over to the supply wagon. Seeing Rowdy alive–ill and dazed, but alive–was a better sight to him than an entire lake of clear water in the middle of the Mojave. He wanted to hold him in his arms, hug him tightly, never come this close to losing him again.

Instead, he simply smiled. “Shoulda never doubted you'd beat this.”

“Take more than a lousy night stalker to take me out.” Rowdy's spoke in a slow voice, quieter than usual, but he was lucid and talking and that meant the worst was behind him. “Hope I didn’t slow us down any.”

“Not a bit. But don't get too comfortable in that wagon, we're gonna need you back in the saddle in a couple of days.” Favor climbed into the wagon beside Rowdy. “That's how long Wish said it'll take for you to heal up. Might feel some soreness 'bout that wound, but the venom'll be gone by then.”

“Gotta hand it to Wish's doctoring, fixed me up as well as any NCR medic coulda done. And with half the supplies.” As Rowdy spoke, Favor brushed a hand through his hair, still messy from the fevered sweat and desert dust.

“Glad you're all right.” He laid beside Rowdy, leaving for his own bedroll only once he was sure he was back asleep. He only had a couple of hour to sleep, at most, but he’d manage. He had before, plenty of times. Just as he knew they’d manage that pass, knowing now exactly what they were up against. The same couldn’t be said for whatever would meet them on the other side, but that’s always how it was in the Wastelands. It was up to them to get through it all, and Favor believed they would.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes on all the Fallout stuff!
> 
> Cyberhorse – Fallout has cyberhounds, which are cyborg dogs used by pre-war police forces, so I decided to give a similar back story for Fave's horse. The rest of the drovers ride radhorses (I still think the only reason there are no horses in the Fallout games is more due to game play issues they might cause. It's my AU, so I say there's horses!)
> 
> Pip-Boy – The 'Personal Information Processor', it's basically a wrist computer that, in-game, is how the player does anything: uses the map, notes, inventory, radio, etc. Vault dwellers have them, hence why Mushy has one, but he lends it to Pete during the drive because it makes scouting a LOT easier and less deadly.
> 
> Vaults – Pre-war, underground shelters the size of towns, these were commissioned by the government as a way to preserve humanity...and also to conduct weird and shady experiments on those who lived there. Many vaults have since been opened up (or destroyed by the weird experiments) but many still exist as communities, including Vault 21, where Mushy is from.
> 
> Fiends – A particularly dangerous faction of raiders.
> 
> Deathclaws – Another pre-war creation, these are just the worst and they're basically Jurassic Park crossed with demons and I refuse to fight them unless I'm at least level 20 in-game.
> 
> Bottle Caps – The makeshift currency used throughout the Wastelands, usually referred to as ‘caps.’ Even though both the NCR and the Legion have official money, caps are still the most highly used currency.
> 
> Caesar’s Legion – Ohh, wow this one is a real doozy that requires a lot of explanation. In short, the Legion is the most powerful threat to the NCR and other ruling factions in the Mojave Wasteland. They model themselves after a stylized, inaccurate version of Ancient Rome, enslave a ton of people, use crucifixion as a means of punishment/execution, and are just generally awful.
> 
> Night Stalkers – Coyotes genetically spliced with rattlesnakes.
> 
> Stimpaks - Healing meds injected via scary-looking syringes.
> 
> I think that covers it for this fic. I plan on writing a lot more for this AU, so I hope everyone enjoyed it! Thanks!


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